didn’t ask.”
Ginger spun around.
The sheepish grin on her father’s face tossed her back ten years, to when she’d been the apple of his eye and had him wrapped around her finger. “And I told him a man’s integrity will make him my son-in-law long before the size of his pocketbook.”
“Brock’s as honest as the day is long,” she said proudly.
“I know that.” Her father chuckled. “You two remind me of the time I met your mother. I didn’t have two coins to rub together, but that didn’t stop us.”
“You always said I was just like Momma.”
“You are.” Her father kissed her forehead and then shook his head. “If old George hadn’t spouted off to that radio station about how good Brock is, we’d all be home celebrating your wedding instead of here. George owes me for that.”
Ginger laughed, and then right there on the street, in front of her father, threw her arms around Brock and kissed the daylights out of him.
Less than an hour later, in Palooka George’s office, by a judge the mobster had summoned—complete with an antedated marriage license—Ginger became Mrs. Brock Ness.
Afterward, her father insisted he had to head back home, before another one of her sisters went on the lam. Ginger promised she and Brock would visit soon, and then, extremely glad her husband didn’t have to perform on the radio that evening, climbed into a waiting taxicab beside him.
They no longer drove the Ford, finding that parking at the speakeasies was too difficult. Ginger liked the intimacy of the backseat and by the time they arrived at the hotel there wasn’t a trace of lipstick on her lips and the windows were so steamed over the driver glared at them. Brock threw a bill over the front seat, and they ran across the street hand in hand much like they had the first day they’d arrived.
Empty except for the two of them, the elevator became a ride she’d never forget, and elation burst inside her when Brock hoisted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway to their room.
When he set her on the bed, she whooped and kicked off her shoes. Her gloves came off next, one landing on his head as she threw them in the air. She’d lain in this bed so many nights, burning with need, and knowing nothing would come between them tonight made her giddy.
“I’ve waited for this for so long,” Brock said, pulling her to her feet. He grabbed the hem of her dress, hoisting it upward.
She lifted her arms as he pulled the dress over her head. “You could have had it long before now.”
“No, I couldn’t.” He knelt then, unhooking and rolling her stockings down. “I don’t take handouts, and wasn’t about to when it came to your love. That I had to earn.”
The heat of passion between her legs had her tightening her thighs at the same time her heart all but burst. “You earned it all right,” she gasped.
He kissed her legs as he discarded her stockings, and Ginger wanted to beg him to hurry even though she wanted tonight to last forever.
Brock, it seemed, was ready for forever, for he was certainly taking his time. He kissed her everywhere, including her breasts after removing her camisole. He caressed her, too, running his hands over her stomach, and finally lower, stoking the fire that burned between her thighs until her breathing was shallow and ragged.
Ginger didn’t try to stop the way her body reacted, how her hips rose up off the bed, begging for more. Brock caught her bottom, and holding it off the bed, licked her inner thighs.
A growl rumbled in her throat and her eyelids fell closed at the splendor that burned sweetly, hotly, when he kissed her very core.
A tremendous force sprang to life inside her, demanding and promising at the same time. Ginger didn’t fight it, didn’t have the wherewithal or the will. Instead she went with the flow, enjoying each moment more than the last as a force inside her grew. Powerful. Fantastic.
Her toes curled and her fingers balled up the sheet
Ginger spun around.
The sheepish grin on her father’s face tossed her back ten years, to when she’d been the apple of his eye and had him wrapped around her finger. “And I told him a man’s integrity will make him my son-in-law long before the size of his pocketbook.”
“Brock’s as honest as the day is long,” she said proudly.
“I know that.” Her father chuckled. “You two remind me of the time I met your mother. I didn’t have two coins to rub together, but that didn’t stop us.”
“You always said I was just like Momma.”
“You are.” Her father kissed her forehead and then shook his head. “If old George hadn’t spouted off to that radio station about how good Brock is, we’d all be home celebrating your wedding instead of here. George owes me for that.”
Ginger laughed, and then right there on the street, in front of her father, threw her arms around Brock and kissed the daylights out of him.
Less than an hour later, in Palooka George’s office, by a judge the mobster had summoned—complete with an antedated marriage license—Ginger became Mrs. Brock Ness.
Afterward, her father insisted he had to head back home, before another one of her sisters went on the lam. Ginger promised she and Brock would visit soon, and then, extremely glad her husband didn’t have to perform on the radio that evening, climbed into a waiting taxicab beside him.
They no longer drove the Ford, finding that parking at the speakeasies was too difficult. Ginger liked the intimacy of the backseat and by the time they arrived at the hotel there wasn’t a trace of lipstick on her lips and the windows were so steamed over the driver glared at them. Brock threw a bill over the front seat, and they ran across the street hand in hand much like they had the first day they’d arrived.
Empty except for the two of them, the elevator became a ride she’d never forget, and elation burst inside her when Brock hoisted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway to their room.
When he set her on the bed, she whooped and kicked off her shoes. Her gloves came off next, one landing on his head as she threw them in the air. She’d lain in this bed so many nights, burning with need, and knowing nothing would come between them tonight made her giddy.
“I’ve waited for this for so long,” Brock said, pulling her to her feet. He grabbed the hem of her dress, hoisting it upward.
She lifted her arms as he pulled the dress over her head. “You could have had it long before now.”
“No, I couldn’t.” He knelt then, unhooking and rolling her stockings down. “I don’t take handouts, and wasn’t about to when it came to your love. That I had to earn.”
The heat of passion between her legs had her tightening her thighs at the same time her heart all but burst. “You earned it all right,” she gasped.
He kissed her legs as he discarded her stockings, and Ginger wanted to beg him to hurry even though she wanted tonight to last forever.
Brock, it seemed, was ready for forever, for he was certainly taking his time. He kissed her everywhere, including her breasts after removing her camisole. He caressed her, too, running his hands over her stomach, and finally lower, stoking the fire that burned between her thighs until her breathing was shallow and ragged.
Ginger didn’t try to stop the way her body reacted, how her hips rose up off the bed, begging for more. Brock caught her bottom, and holding it off the bed, licked her inner thighs.
A growl rumbled in her throat and her eyelids fell closed at the splendor that burned sweetly, hotly, when he kissed her very core.
A tremendous force sprang to life inside her, demanding and promising at the same time. Ginger didn’t fight it, didn’t have the wherewithal or the will. Instead she went with the flow, enjoying each moment more than the last as a force inside her grew. Powerful. Fantastic.
Her toes curled and her fingers balled up the sheet
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